A Lesson Learned
by white-knives
Summary: What happens when a mischievous human gets the idea to try pipeweed for the first time? Aragorn is about to find out.


As much as he loved his father, Estel positively dreaded his lessons. He saw their eventual usefulness, of course, but being as he was a twelve-year-old boy, the young ranger simply wanted to get out of the seemingly endless lecture he was trapped in. As the Lord of Imladris droned on about the proper construction of a salve for the easing of head pains, the young human gazed longingly out the window, wondering what his brothers were doing, when his lessons would be over.

_Perhaps I am doomed to remain in this classroom forever_, he mused.

I shall be nothing but a pile of dust and still my father will continue to school me on the seven uses of birch bark.

A sharp sound of knuckles rapping on the table derailed his rather unscholarly train of thought. With a sigh he turned to face his foster father, who had noticed his son's lack of concentration and was looking at him with an expression of pure exasperation.

"Ion nin, how can you possibly hope to become a healer if your mind is forever gallivanting off to other places?" Elrond asked, with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I am sorry, Ada. I will try to pay more attention to your words." Estel said with a twinge of embarrassment.

"No, it is all right. I can see that if I am to continue our lesson it will be met with the same blank stare you have worn on your face all day. You may go outside and play, if you want. Stay out of trouble, please. I do not wish to find out that you unwittingly left the bath running for three hours again."

The young boy blushed and smiled at the memory. "In my defense, Elrohir had insinuated that I could not shoot an apple off his head, and I had to defend my honor, as you would have wanted me to." He said with a cheeky grin, and took off running down the halls of the Last Homely House, his footsteps echoing behind him.

After wandering aimlessly around the grounds, the ranger realized that his boredom had in fact grown after being released from the stone prison. _How I wish I could be a warrior!_, he thought.

Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. The kind of idea only twelve-year-old boys can have. He had seen his friend Tathar earlier that day, and now ran off to find him.

They met under a tree in the gardens, where his friend had been pruning the great willow tree that was his namesake.

"Mae govannen", he said by way of greeting.

"Hello, Estel. Might I ask why you nearly crashed into me in your haste?"

The elfling suddenly noticed the mischievous grin on the ranger's face.

"What are you planning mellon nin? I can see that look in your eyes you always get when you have an idea."

"Tathar, you know how your father is always smoking his pipe?"

Tathar narrowed his eyes, he didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, but I do not see your point Estel".

The ranger raised an eyebrow at his companion.

"Well, have you ever tried it?"

Tathar's eyes went wide. Steal his father's pipe weed? Oh, no. This was one thing his human friend would NOT convince him of.

"Absolutely not, are you mad? Do you not know what punishment would await us if we were to be caught? I could not sit down for nearly a week the last time my father caught us doing something we were not supposed to".

The young elf crossed his arms to emphasize his point.

"We would not be caught, do not worry. The grounds are vast, we need only sneak into your father's workshop and take his pipe."

Tathar weighed his options. The idea of rebelling was very appealing to him, but the idea of being found out was not. Eventually, he gave in to his friend and nodded his agreement.

Estel's face cracked open in a wide smile that couldn't mean anything good.

"Today, we become men!" He announced triumphantly, and sped off in the direction of the stables, where Tathar's father worked.

Tathar only rolled his eyes and followed suit. _This will turn out badly, I am sure of it_, he thought to himself.

They arrived outside of the Rivendell stables, and Estel motioned to his friend to stay quiet. Delicately, the future king tiptoed past the sleeping stableman, Tathar's father. _Now where is his leather bag?, _ he wondered.

"Aha!" He whispered softly as he spotted the satchel leaning against the chair.

Careful not to disturb the snoring elf, he rummaged around in the bag until he found what he was looking for.

Tathar, who had been waiting outside anxiously, now smiled as Estel bounded out of the stables, a long, ornately carved wooden pipe and small pouch in his hand.

They came to rest underneath a noble looking birch tree, just outside of the classroom that Estel had escaped earlier that day. He began to pack the pipe, keeping a careful watch should anyone come looking for them.

Finally, satisfied by his (or so he thought) expert job, he struck a wooden match and lit it.

His first thought went something like this: _Eru help me I cannot breathe! Why would anyone in their right mind subject themselves to something like this? It burns! My lungs must surely be collapsing in on themselves! _

Tathar had watched all this and now laughed outright at his coughing, spluttering friend.

"Is it to your liking, Estel?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The ranger could only glare at him and continued to cough and dry heave until his eyes watered. Then, with a rather rude gesture towards his friend, he defiantly lit the pipe again, this time with much less coughing. He assumed an air of dignity about himself as he exhaled the bitter tasting smoke.

"You know Tathar, this is not as bad as I thought it would be."

Tathar snorted as his friend attempted to gloss over what had just happened.

"Although, I do feel rather ill now. Perhaps it is affecting me."

Unbelieving that the same would happen to him, the elf reached for the pipe and took a long drag off it – too long as it turned out.

Estel nearly doubled over in laughter watching his friend react to the harsh smoke. _I shall never let him live this down, arrogant elf_, he thought to himself with glee. The two friends exchanged the pipe for a time, until the sound of footsteps interrupted their merriment.

"Well what do we have here?" a deep voice sounded from behind the two boys.

All of Estel's previous swagger had vanished. A pit of dread deeper than the mines of Moria opened in his stomach. He dared not glance up, instead looking over at his friend, whose expression of pure terror matched that of his own.

"I would appreciate eye contact, Dol-gonui"

Estel winced at his father's use of the word, which meant head of stone. He only used it when his son had done something very wrong, and usually very stupid. He turned to face the wrath of Elrond, Lord of Imladris, and currently furious parent.

"Ada, I can explain. I- I- I…" he trailed off at the expression on his father's face.

"I assure you, Estel I am in no mood for explanations." He turned to face Tathar.

"As for you, rest assured your father will hear of this. I would have expected better of you."

Tathar hung his head and remained silent. Elrond turned toward his son, and one look was enough to get the human off his feet and standing in front of his father. With one last admonishing look at Tathar, the elf took hold of Estel's ear and dragged him towards the east wing.

"Ouch, Ada that hurts!" the ranger complained, which only made his father grip the tender appendage harder.

Estel was starting to feel very ill at this point from the smoke, and wanted nothing more but to lie down and drink some water. He said so to his father, who gave no reply other than stony silence. The ranger's head was spinning and he felt very dizzy. _Oh, I wish I had never had this dreadful idea_, he moaned inside his head.

After a few endless minutes, the young boy began to wonder what punishments lay in store for him. He imagined all the possibilities in his mind and groaned. Reading his mind, Elrond released the hold on Estel's ear and turned to face his son.

"Since you enjoy smoking so much, I have decided to let you smoke the whole barrel of pipeweed, until not a leaf remains in the bottom."

With those words, all resolve the ranger had dissolved, and the mere thought of smoking so much was enough to compel the ranger to vomit right then and there, over the sparkling floors.

As he tells it, the punishment was not nearly as bad as he thought it would be. However, our young ranger did not touch another pipe for nearly ten years after that unfortunate act of mischief.

**A/N Hi there, it's nice to be back. Ah, Aragorn. Fondly remembered as "that little shit' by nearly everyone in Rivendell. I hope you enjoyed my portrayal of Elrond and Aragorn's relationship, as well as the little friend I invented for him. It's been almost a year since I last wrote, wow! Any and all reviews would mean so much to me. **


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